It's glorious today so you know that it will pass away The doves and snapping turtles bite at me Catatonic ash, don't bump against them tender wounds This petunia land smells of timothy I have read the maps of the Patron Saint of Haggard Arm the minds of midwives who deliver thee My hands are not enough I will swing a hammer Amen Corners where they'll gather and meet On Amen Corner is where they gather, all them midwives who delivered me Their looks are unwashed, ashamed, and haggard, seeing my hands are empty of offerings. The took my rolled map, ripped it to tatters, turned their backs and commenced to sing. I stroke my dark dove, I pat my turtle, but their responce is as cold as charity. Snapping turtles hide, scrape their teeth against their hide Doves stumble 'round turned dark from timothy The midwives turn to saints swinging what's delivered On Amen Corner the haggard hammer sings My snapping turtle it still be snapping, my dark dove can only bark at me I pull his dark down, rip it to tatters, glue the feathers to my turtles covering. I will swing it, my soft-hard hammer, to my midwives this is my offering On Amen Corner, I'll be delivered, my soft-hard hammer will sing as it swings.